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1

PALESTINE:

A PRIZE POEM, RECITED IN THE THEATRE, OXFORD, IN THE YEAR MDCCCIII.


3

Reft of thy sons, amid thy foes forlorn,
Mourn, widow'd Queen, forgotten Sion, mourn!
Is this thy place, sad city, this thy throne,
Where the wild desert rears its craggy stone;
While suns unbless'd their angry lustre fling,
And way-worn pilgrims seek the scanty spring?—
Where now thy pomp, which kings with envy view'd?
Where now thy might, which all those kings subdued?
No martial myriads muster in thy gate;
No suppliant nations in thy Temple wait;
No prophet bards, thy glittering courts among,
Wake the full lyre, and swell the tide of song:
But lawless force, and meagre want are there,
And the quick-darting eye of restless fear,
While cold oblivion, 'mid thy ruins laid,
Folds his dank wing

Alluding to the usual manner in which sleep is represented in ancient statues. See also Pindar, Pyth. I. v. 16, 17.“ κνωσσων υγρον νωτον αιωρει.”

beneath the ivy shade.


4

Ye guardian saints! ye warrior sons of Heaven,

Authorities for these celestial warriors may be found, Josh. v. 13. 2 Kings vi. 2. 2 Macc. v. 3. Ibid. xi. Joseph. Ed. Huds. vi. p. 1282. ct alibi passim.


To whose high care Judæa's state was given!
O wont of old your nightly watch to keep,
A host of gods, on Sion's towery steep!

It is scarcely necessary to mention the lofty site of Jerusalem. “The hill of God is a high hill, even a high hill as the hill of Bashan.”


If e'er your secret footsteps linger still
By Siloa's fount, or Tabor's echoing hill;
If e'er your song on Salem's glories dwell,
And mourn the captive land you loved so well;
(For oft, 'tis said, in Kedron's palmy vale
Mysterious harpings

See Sandys, and other travellers into Asia.

swell the midnight gale,

And, blest as balmy dews that Hermon cheer,
Melt in soft cadence on the pilgrim's ear;)
Forgive, blest spirits, if a theme so high
Mock the weak notes of mortal minstrelsy!
Yet, might your aid this anxious breast inspire
With one faint spark of Milton's seraph fire,
Then should my Muse

Common practice, and the authority of Milton, seem sufficient to justify using this term as a personification of poetry.

ascend with bolder flight,

And wave her eagle-plumes exulting in the light.
O happy once in Heaven's peculiar love,
Delight of men below, and saints above!
Though, Salem, now the spoiler's ruffian hand
Has loosed his hell-hounds o'er thy wasted land;
Though weak, and whelm'd beneath the storms of fate,
Thy house is left unto thee desolate;

Matt. xxiii. 38.



5

Though thy proud stones in cumbrous ruin fall,
And seas of sand o'ertop thy mouldering wall;
Yet shall the Muse to fancy's ardent view
Each shadowy trace of faded pomp renew:
And as the seer

Moses.

on Pisgah's topmost brow

With glistening eye beheld the plain below,
With prescient ardour drank the scented gale,
And bade the opening glades of Canaan hail;
Her eagle eye shall scan the prospect wide,
From Carmel's cliffs to Almotana's tide;

Almotana is the Oriental name for the Dead Sea, as Ardeni is for Jordan.


The flinty waste, the cedar-tufted hill,
The liquid health of smooth Ardeni's rill;
The grot, where, by the watch-fire's evening blaze,
The robber riots, or the hermit prays;

The mountains of Palestine are full of caverns, which are generally occupied in one or other of the methods here mentioned. Vide Sandys, Maundrell, and Calmet, passim.


Or where the tempest rives the hoary stone,
The wintry top of giant Lebanon.
Fierce, hardy, proud, in conscious freedom bold,
Those stormy seats the warrior Druses hold;

The untameable spirit, feodal customs, and affection for Europeans, which distinguish this extraordinary race, who boast themselves to be a remnant of the Crusaders, are well described in Pagés. The account of their celebrated Emir, Facciardini, in Sandys, is also very interesting. Puget de S. Pierre compiled a small volume on their history; Paris, 1763. 12mo.


From Norman blood their lofty line they trace,
Their lion courage proves their generous race.
They, only they, while all around them kneel
In sullen homage to the Thracian steel,
Teach their pale despot's waning moon to fear

“The Turkish sultans, whose moon seems fast approaching to its wane.” Sir W. Jones's first Disc. to the Asiatic Society.


The patriot terrors of the mountain spear.

6

Yes, valorous chiefs, while yet your sabres shine
The native guard of feeble Palestine,
Oh, ever thus, by no vain boast dismay'd,
Defend the birthright of the cedar shade!
What though no more for you th' obedient gale,
Swells the white bosom of the Tyrian sail;
Though now no more your glittering marts unfold
Sidonian dyes and Lusitanian gold;

The gold of the Tyrians chiefly came from Portugal, which was probably their Tarshish.


Though not for you the pale and sickly slave
Forgets the light in Ophir's wealthy cave;
Yet yours the lot, in proud contentment blest,
Where cheerful labour leads to tranquil rest.
No robber rage the ripening harvest knows;
And unrestrain'd the generous vintage flows:

In the southern parts of Palestine the inhabitants reap their corn green, as they are not sure that it will ever be allowed to come to maturity. The oppression to which the cultivators of vineyards are subject throughout the Ottoman empire is well known.


Nor less your sons to manliest deeds aspire,
And Asia's mountains glow with Spartan fire.
So when, deep sinking in the rosy main,
The western sun forsakes the Syrian plain,
His watery rays refracted lustre shed,
And pour their latest light on Carmel's head.
Yet shines your praise, amid surrounding gloom,
As the lone lamp that trembles in the tomb:
For few the souls that spurn a tyrant's chain,
And small the bounds of freedom's scanty reign.

7

As the poor outcast on the cheerless wild,
Arabia's parent,

Hagar.

clasp'd her fainting child,

And wander'd near the roof, no more her home,
Forbid to linger, yet afraid to roam;
My sorrowing fancy quits the happier height,
And southward throws her half-averted sight.
For sad the scenes Judæa's plains disclose,
A dreary waste of undistinguish'd woes:
See war untired his crimson pinions spread,
And foul revenge that tramples on the dead!
Lo, where from far the guarded fountains shine,

The watering-places are generally beset with Arabs, who exact toll from all comers. See Harmer and Pagés.


Thy tents, Nebaioth, rise, and Kedar, thine!

See Ammianus Marcellinus, lib. xiv. p. 43. Ed. Vales.


'Tis yours the boast to mark the stranger's way,
And spur your headlong chargers on the prey,
Or rouse your nightly numbers from afar,
And on the hamlet pour the waste of war;
Nor spare the hoary head, nor bid your eye
Revere the sacred smile of infancy.

“Thine eye shall not spare them.”


Such now the clans, whose fiery coursers feed
Where waves on Kishon's bank the whispering reed;
And theirs the soil, where, curling to the skies,
Smokes on Samaria's mount her scanty sacrifice;

A miserable remnant of Samaritan worship still exists on Mount Gerizim. Maundrell relates his conversation with the high priest.


While Israel's sons, by scorpion curses driven,
Outcasts of earth, and reprobate of heaven,

8

Through the wide world in friendless exile stray,
Remorse and shame sole comrades of their way,
With dumb despair their country's wrongs behold,
And, dead to glory, only burn for gold.
O Thou, their Guide, their Father, and their Lord,
Loved for Thy mercies, for Thy power adored!
If at Thy Name the waves forgot their force,
And refluent Jordan sought his trembling source;

Psalm cxiv.


If at Thy Name like sheep the mountains fled,
And haughty Sirion bow'd his marble head;—
To Israel's woes a pitying ear incline,
And raise from earth Thy long-neglected vine!

See Psalm lxxx. 8—14.


Her rifled fruits behold the heathen bear,
And wild-wood boars her mangled clusters tear.
Was it for this she stretch'd her peopled reign
From far Euphrates to the western main?
For this, o'er many a hill her boughs she threw,
And her wide arms like goodly cedars grew?
For this, proud Edom slept beneath her shade,
And o'er th' Arabian deep her branches play'd?
Oh, feeble boast of transitory power!
Vain, fruitless trust of Judah's happier hour!
Not such their hope, when through the parted main
The cloudy wonder led the warrior train:

9

Not such their hope, when through the fields of night
The torch of heaven diffused its friendly light:
Not, when fierce conquest urged the onward war,
And hurl'd stern Canaan from his iron car:
Nor, when five monarchs led to Gibeon's fight,
In rude array, the harness'd Amorite:

Joshua x.


Yes—in that hour, by mortal accents stay'd,
The lingering sun his fiery wheels delay'd;
The moon, obedient, trembled at the sound,
Curb'd her pale car, and check'd her mazy round!
Let Sinai tell—for she beheld His might,
And God's own darkness veil'd her mystic height:
(He, cherub-borne, upon the whirlwind rode,
And the red mountain like a furnace glow'd);
Let Sinai tell-but who shall dare recite
His praise, His power, eternal, infinite?—
Awe-struck I cease; nor bid my strains aspire,
Or serve His altar with unhallow'd fire.

Alluding to the fate of Nadab and Abihu.


Such were the cares that watch'd o'er Israel's fate,
And such the glories of their infant state.
—Triumphant race! and did your power decay?
Fail'd the bright promise of your early day?
No:—by that sword, which, red with heathen gore,
A giant spoil, the stripling champion bore;

10

By him, the chief to farthest India known,
The mighty master of the ivory throne;

Solomon. Ophir is by most geographers placed in the Aurea Chersonesus. See Tavernier and Raleigh.


In Heaven's own strength, high towering o'er her foes,
Victorious Salem's lion banner rose;
Before her footstool prostrate nations lay,
And vassal tyrants crouch'd beneath her sway.
—And he, the kingly sage, whose restless mind
Through nature's mazes wander'd unconfined;

The Arabian mythology respecting Solomon is in itself so fascinating, is so illustrative of the present state of the country, and on the whole so agreeable to Scripture, that it was judged improper to omit all mention of it, though its wildness might have operated as an objection to making it a principal object in the poem.


Who every bird, and beast, and insect knew,
And spake of every plant that quaffs the dew;
To him were known—so Hagar's offspring tell—
The powerful sigil and the starry spell,
The midnight call, hell's shadowy legions dread,
And sounds that burst the slumbers of the dead.
Hence all his might; for who could these oppose?
And Tadmor thus, and Syrian Balbec rose.

Palmyra (“Tadmor in the Desert”) was really built by Solomon, (1 Kings ix. 2 Chron. viii.) and universal tradition marks him out, with great probability, as the founder of Balbec. Estakhar is also attributed to him by the Arabs. See the romance of Vathek, and the various Travels into the East, more particularly Chardin's, in which, after a minute and interesting description of the majestic ruins of Estakhar, or Persepolis, the ancient capital of Persia, an account follows of the wild local traditions just alluded to. Vol. ii. p. 190. Ed. Amst. 1735, 4to. Vide also Sale's Koran; D'Herbelot, Bibl. Orient. (article Solimon Ben Daoud;) and the Arabian Nights' Entertainments, passim.


Yet e'en the works of toiling Genii fall,
And vain was Estakhar's enchanted wall.
In frantic converse with the mournful wind,
There oft the houseless Santon

It is well known that the Santons are real or affected madmen, pretending to extraordinary sanctity, who wander about the country, sleeping in caves or ruins.

rests reclined;

Strangè shapes he views, and drinks with wondering ears
The voices of the dead, and songs of other years.
Such, the faint echo of departed praise,
Still sound Arabia's legendary lays;

11

And thus their fabling bards delight to tell
How lovely were thy tents, O Israel!

Numbers xxiv. 5.


For thee his ivory load Behemoth bore,

Behemoth is sometimes supposed to mean the elephant, in which sense it is here used.


And far Sofala teem'd with golden ore;

An African port to the south of Bab-el-mandeb, celebrated for gold mines.


Thine all the arts that wait on wealth's increase,
Or bask and wanton in the beam of peace.
When Tyber slept beneath the cypress gloom,
And silence held the lonely woods of Rome;
Or ere to Greece the builder's skill was known,
Or the light chisel brush'd the Parian stone;
Yet here fair Science nursed her infant fire,
Fann'd by the artist aid of friendly Tyre.
Then tower'd the palace, then in awful state
The Temple rear'd its everlasting gate.

Psalm xxiv. 7.


No workman steel, no ponderous axes rung!

“There was neither hammer, nor axe, nor any tool of iron, heard in the house while it was in building.” 1 Kings vi. 7.


Like some tall palm the noiseless fabric sprung.
Majestic silence!—then the harp awoke,
The cymbal clang'd, the deep-voiced trumpet spoke;
And Salem spread her suppliant arms abroad,
View'd the descending flame, and bless'd the present God.

“And when all the children of Israel saw how the fire came down, and the glory of the Lord upon the house, they bowed themselves with their faces to the ground upon the pavement, and worshipped.” 2 Chron. vii. 3.


Nor shrunk she then, when, raging deep and loud,
Beat o'er her soul the billows of the proud.

Psalm cxxiv. 4.


E'en they who, dragg'd to Shinar's fiery sand,
Till'd with reluctant strength the stranger's land;

12

Who sadly told the slow-revolving years,
And steep'd the captive's bitter bread with tears;—
Yet oft their hearts with kindling hopes would burn,
Their destined triumphs, and their glad return,
And their sad lyres, which, silent and unstrung,
In mournful ranks on Babel's willows hung,
Would oft awake to chant their future fame,
And from the skies their lingering Saviour claim.
His promised aid could every fear controul;
Thisnerved the warrior's arm, thissteel'd the martyr's soul!
Nor vain their hope:—bright beaming through the sky,
Burst in full blaze the Day-spring from on high;
Earth's utmost isles exulted at the sight,
And crowding nations drank the orient light.
Lo, star-led chiefs Assyrian odours bring,
And bending Magi seek their infant King!
Mark'd ye, where, hovering o'er his radiant head,
The dove's white wings celestial glory shed?
Daughter of Sion! virgin queen! rejoice!
Clap the glad hand and lift th' exulting voice!
He comes,—but not in regal splendour drest,
The haughty diadem, the Tyrian vest;
Not arm'd in flame, all-glorious from afar,
Of hosts the chieftain, and the lord of war:

13

Messiah comes!—let furious discord cease;
Be peace on earth before the Prince of Peace!
Disease and anguish feel His blest controul,
And howling fiends release the tortured soul;
The beams of gladness hell's dark caves illume,
And Mercy broods above the distant gloom.
Thou palsied earth, with noonday night o'erspread!
Thou sickening sun, so dark, so deep, so red!
Ye hovering ghosts, that throng the starless air,
Why shakes the earth? why fades the light? declare!
Are those His limbs, with ruthless scourges torn?
His brows, all bleeding with the twisted thorn?
His the pale form, the meek forgiving eye
Raised from the cross in patient agony?
—Be dark, thou sun,—thou noonday night arise,
And hide, oh hide, the dreadful sacrifice!
Ye faithful few, by bold affection led,
Who round the Saviour's cross your sorrows shed,
Not for His sake your tearful vigils keep;—
Weep for your country, for your children weep!

Luke xxiii. 27, 28.


—Vengeance! thy fiery wing their race pursued;
Thy thirsty poniard blush'd with infant blood.
Roused at thy call, and panting still for game,
The bird of war, the Latian eagle came.

14

Then Judah raged, by ruffian Discord led,
Drunk with the steamy carnage of the dead:
He saw his sons by dubious slaughter fall,
And war without, and death within the wall.
Wide-wasting plague, gaunt famine, mad despair,
And dire debate, and clamorous strife was there:
Love, strong as death, retain'd his might no more,
And the pale parent drank her children's gore.

Joseph vi. p. 1275. Ed. Huds.


Yet they, who wont to roam the ensanguined plain,
And spurn with fell delight their kindred slain;
E'en they, when, high above the dusty fight,
Their burning Temple rose in lurid light,
To their loved altars paid a parting groan,
And in their country's woes forgot their own.
As 'mid the cedar courts, and gates of gold,
The trampled ranks in miry carnage roll'd,
To save their Temple every hand essay'd,
And with cold fingers grasp'd the feeble blade:
Through their torn veins reviving fury ran,
And life's last anger warm'd the dying man!
But heavier far the fetter'd captive's doom!
To glut with sighs the iron ear of Rome:
To swell, slow-pacing by the car's tall side,
The stoic tyrant's philosophic pride;

The Roman notions of humanity cannot have been very exalted when they ascribed so large a share to Titus. For the horrible details of his conduct during the siege of Jerusalem and after its capture, the reader is referred to Josephus. When we learn that so many captives were crucified, that δια το πληθος χωρα τε ενελειπετο τοις σταυροις και σταυροι τοις σωμασιν; and that after all was over, in cold blood and merriment, he celebrated his brother's birth-day with similar sacrifices; we can hardly doubt as to the nature of that untold crime, which disturbed the dying moments of “the darling of the human race.” After all, the cruelties of this man are probably softened in the high priest's narrative. The fall of Jerusalem nearly resembles that of Zaragoza, but it is a Morla who tells the tale.



15

To flesh the lion's ravenous jaws, or feel
The sportive fury of the fencer's steel;
Or pant, deep plunged beneath the sultry mine,
For the light gales of balmy Palestine.
Ah! fruitful now no more,—an empty coast,
She mourn'd her sons enslaved, her glories lost:
In her wide streets the lonely raven bred,
There bark'd the wolf, and dire hyænas fed.
Yet midst her towery fanes, in ruin laid,
The pilgrim saint his murmuring vespers paid;
'Twas his to climb the tufted rocks, and rove
The chequer'd twilight of the olive grove;
'Twas his to bend beneath the sacred gloom,
And wear with many a kiss Messiah's tomb:
While forms celestial fill'd his trancèd eye,
The daylight dreams of pensive piety,
O'er his still breast a tearful fervour stole,
And softer sorrows charm'd the mourner's soul.
Oh, lives there one, who mocks his artless zeal?
Too proud to worship, and too wise to feel?
Be his the soul with wintry reason blest,
The dull, lethargic sovereign of the breast!
Be his the life that creeps in dead repose,
No joy that sparkles, and no tear that flows!

16

Far other they who rear'd yon pompous shrine,

The Temple of the sepulchre.


And bade the rock with Parian marble shine.

See Cotovicus, p. 179; and from him Sandys.


Then hallow'd peace renew'd her wealthy reign,
Then altars smoked, and Sion smiled again.
There sculptured gold and costly gems were seen,
And all the bounties of the British queen;

St. Helena, who was, according to Camden, born at Colchester, See also Howel's Hist. of the World.


There barbarous kings their sandal'd nations led,
And steel-clad champions bow'd the crested head.
There, when her fiery race the desert pour'd,
And pale Byzantium fear'd Medina's sword,

The invasions of the civilised parts of Asia by the Arabian and Turkish Mahometans.


When coward Asia shook in trembling woe,
And bent appall'd before the Bactrian bow;
From the moist regions of the western star
The wandering hermit waked the storm of war.

Peter the Hermit. The world has been so long accustomed to hear the Crusades considered as the height of frenzy and injustice, that to undertake their defence might be perhaps a hazardous task. We must, however, recollect, that had it not been for these extraordinary exertions of generous courage, the whole of Europe would perhaps have fallen, and Christianity been buried in the ruins. It was not, as Voltaire has falsely or weakly asscrted, a conspiracy of robbers; it was not an unprovoked attack on a distant and inoffensive nation; it was a blow aimed at the heart of a most powerful and active enemy. Had not the Christian kingdoms of Asia been established as a check to the Mabometans, Italy, and the scanty remnant of Christianity in Spain, must again have fallen into their power, and France herself have needed all the heroism and good fortune of a Charles Martel to deliver her from subjugation.


Their limbs all iron, and their souls all flame,
A countless host, the red-cross warriors came:
E'en hoary priests the sacred combat wage,
And clothe in steel the palsied arm of age;
While beardless youths and tender maids assume

See Vertot, Hist. Chev. de Malthe, liv. i.

The weighty morion and the glancing plume.

In sportive pride the warrior damsels wield
The ponderous falchion, and the sun-like shield,
And start to see their armour's iron gleam
Dance with blue lustre in Tabaria's stream.

Tabaria (a corruption of Tiberias) is the name used for the Sea of Galilee in the old romances.



17

The blood-red banner floating o'er their van,
All madly blithe the mingled myriads ran:
Impatient Death beheld his destined food,
And hovering vultures snuff'd the scent of blood.
Not such the numbers, nor the host so dread,
By northern Brenn or Scythian Timur led;

Brennus, and Tamerlane.


Nor such the heart-inspiring zeal that bore
United Greece to Phrygia's reedy shore!
There Gaul's proud knights with boastful mien advance,

The insolence of the French nobles twice caused the ruin of the army; once by refusing to serve under Richard Cœur-de-Lion, and again by reproaching the English with cowardice in St. Louis's expedition to Egypt. See Knolles's History of the Turks.


Form the long line, and shake the cornel lance;

The line (combat à-la-haie), according to Sir Walter Raleigh, was characteristic of French tactics; as the column (herse) was of the English. The English at Créci were drawn up thirty deep.


Here, link'd with Thrace, in close battalions stand
Ausonia's sons, a soft inglorious band;
There the stern Norman joins the Austrian train,
And the dark tribes of late-reviving Spain;
Here in black files, advancing firm and slow,
Victorious Albion twangs the deadly bow:—
Albion,—still prompt the captive's wrong to aid,
And wield in Freedom's cause the freeman's generous blade!
Ye sainted spirits of the warrior dead,
Whose giant force Britannia's armies led!

All the British nations served under the same banner.

Sono gl' Inglesi sagittarii, ed hanno
Gente con lor, ch' è più vicina al polo,
Questi da l' alte selve irsuti manda
La divisa dal mondo, ultima Irlanda.

Tasso, Gerusal. lib. i. 44.

Ireland and Scotland, it is scarcely necessary to observe, were synonymous.


Whose bickering falchions, foremost in the fight,
Still pour'd confusion on the Soldan's might;
Lords of the biting axe and beamy spear,

The axe of Richard was very famous. See Warton's Hist. of Ancient Poetry.


Wide-conquering Edward, lion Richard, hear!

18

At Albion's call your crested pride resume,
And burst the marble slumbers of the tomb!
Your sons behold, in arm, in heart the same,
Still press the footsteps of parental fame,
To Salem still their generous aid supply,
And pluck the palm of Syrian chivalry!
When he, from towery Malta's yielding isle,
And the green waters of reluctant Nile,
Th' apostate chief,—from Misraim's subject shore
To Acre's walls his trophied banners bore;
When the pale desert mark'd his proud array,
And desolation hoped an ampler sway;
What hero then triumphant Gaul dismay'd?
What arm repell'd the victor Renegade?
Britannia's champion!—bathed in hostile blood,
High on the breach the dauntless Seaman stood:
Admiring Asia saw th' unequal fight,—
E'en the pale crescent bless'd the Christian's might.
Oh day of death! Oh thirst, beyond controul,
Of crimson conquest in th' Invader's soul!
The slain, yet warm, by social footsteps trod,
O'er the red moat supplied a panting road;
O'er the red moat our conquering thunders flew,
And loftier still the grisly rampire grew.

19

While proudly glow'd above the rescued tower
The wavy cross that mark'd Britannia's power.
Yet still destruction sweeps the lonely plain,
And heroes lift the generous sword in vain.
Still o'er her sky the clouds of anger roll,
And God's revenge hangs heavy on her soul.
Yet shall she rise;—but not by war restored,
Not built in murder,—planted by the sword:
Yes, Salem, thou shalt rise: thy Father's aid
Shall heal the wound His chastening hand has made;
Shall judge the proud oppressor's ruthless sway,
And burst his brazen bonds, and cast his cords away.

Psalm ii. 3. cvii. 16.


Then on your tops shall deathless verdure spring,

“I will multiply the fruit of the tree, and the increase of the field, that ye shall receive no more the reproach of famine among the heathen.”—“And they shall say, This land that was desolate is become like the garden of Eden,” &c. Ezek. xxxvi.


Break forth, ye mountains, and ye valleys, sing!
No more your thirsty rocks shall frown forlorn,
The unbeliever's jest, the heathen's scorn;
The sultry sands shall tenfold harvests yield,
And a new Eden deck the thorny field.
E'en now, perchance, wide-waving o'er the land,
That mighty Angel lifts his golden wand,
Courts the bright vision of descending power,

“That great city, the holy Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God, having the glory of God.” Rev. xxi. 10.


Tells every gate, and measures every tower;

Ezekiel xl.


And chides the tardy seals that yet detain
Thy Lion, Judah, from his destined reign.

20

And who is He? the vast, the awful form,

Revelation x.


Girt with the whirlwind, sandal'd with the storm?
A western cloud around His limbs is spread,
His crown a rainbow, and a sun His head.
To highest Heaven He lifts his kingly hand,
And treads at once the ocean and the land;
And, hark! His voice amid the thunder's roar,
His dreadful voice, that time shall be no more!
Lo! cherub hands the golden courts prepare,
Lo! thrones arise, and every saint is there;

Revelation, xx.


Earth's utmost bounds confess their awful sway,
The mountains worship, and the isles obey;
Nor sun nor moon they need,—nor day, nor night;—
God is their temple, and the Lamb their light:

“And I saw no temple therein: for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it. And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof.” Rev. xxi. 22.


And shall not Israel's sons exulting come,
Hail the glad beam, and claim their ancient home?
On David's throne shall David's offspring reign,
And the dry bones be warm with life again.

“Thus saith the Lord God unto these bones, Behold, I will cause breath to enter into you, and ye shall live.—Then he said unto me, Son of man, these bones are the whole house of Israel.” Ezek. xxxvii.


Hark! white-robed crowds their deep hosannas raise,
And the hoarse flood repeats the sound of praise;
Ten thousand harps attune the mystic song,
Ten thousand thousand saints the strain prolong;—
“Worthy the Lamb! omnipotent to save,
Who died, who lives, triumphant o'er the grave!”

21

EUROPE:

LINES ON THE PRESENT WAR.

WRITTEN IN MDCCCIX.

22

ID. QVANDO. ACCIDERIT. NON. SATIS. AVDEO
EFFARI. SIQVIDEM. NON. CLARIVS. MIHI
PER. SACROS. TRIPODES. CERTA. REFERT. DEVS
NEC. SERVAT. PENITVS. FIDEM
QVOD. SI. QVID. LICEAT. CREDERE. ADHVC. TAMEN
NAM. LAEVVM. TONVIT. NON. FVERIT. PROCVL
QVAERENDVS. CELERI. QVI. PROPERET. GRADV
ET. GALLVM. REPRIMAT. FEROX
PETRVS, CRINITVS. IN. CARMINE AD. BER. CARAPHAM.


23

At that dread season when th' indignant North
Pour'd to vain wars her tardy numbers forth,
When Frederic bent his ear to Europe's cry,
And fann'd too late the flame of liberty;
By feverish hope oppress'd, and anxious thought,
In Dresden's grove the dewy cool I sought.

The opening lines of this poem were really composed in the situation (the Park of Dresden), and under the influence of the feelings which they attempt to describe. The disastrous issue of King Frederick's campaign took away from the author all inclination to continue them, and they remained neglected till the hopes of Europe were again revived by the illustrious efforts of the Spanish people.


Through tangled boughs the broken moonshine play'd,
And Elbe slept soft beneath his linden shade:—
Yet slept not all;—I heard the ceaseless jar,
The rattling waggons, and the wheels of war;
The sounding lash, the march's mingled hum,
And, lost and heard by fits, the languid drum;
O'er the near bridge the thundering hoofs that trode,
And the far-distant fife that thrill'd along the road.
Yes, sweet it seems across some watery dell
To catch the music of the pealing bell;

24

And sweet to list, as on the beach we stray,
The ship-boy's carol in the wealthy bay:—
But sweet no less, when justice points the spear,
Of martial wrath the glorious din to hear,
To catch the war-note on the quivering gale,
And bid the blood-red paths of conquest hail.
Oh! song of hope, too long delusive strain!
And hear we now thy flattering voice again?
But late, alas! I left thee cold and still,
Stunn'd by the wrath of Heaven, on Pratzen's hill.

The hill of Pratzen was the point most obstinately contested in the great battle which has taken its name from the neighbouring town of Austerlitz; and here the most dreadful slaughter took place, both of French and Russians. The author had, a few weeks before he wrote the above, visited every part of this celebrated field.


Oh! on that hill may no kind month renew
The fertile rain, the sparkling summer dew!
Accurs'd of God, may those bleak summits tell
The field of anger where the mighty fell.
There youthful faith and high-born courage rest,
And, red with slaughter, freedom's humbled crest;

It is necessary perhaps to mention, that, by freedom, in this and in other passages of the present poem, political liberty is understood, in opposition to the usurpation of any single European state. In the particular instance of Spain, however, it is a hope which the author has not yet seen reason to abandon, that a struggle so nobly maintained by popular energy, must terminate in the establishment not only of national independence, but of civil and religious liberty.


There Europe, soil'd with blood her tresses grey,
And ancient honour's shield,—all vilely thrown away.
Thus mused my soul, as in succession drear
Rose each grim shape of wrath and doubt and fear;
Defeat and shame in grisly vision past,
And vengeance, bought with blood, and glorious death the last.
Then as my gaze their waving eagles met,
And through the night each sparkling bayonet,

25

Still memory told how Austria's evil hour
Had felt on Praga's field a Frederic's power,
And Gallia's vaunting train,

The confidence and shameful luxury of the French nobles, during the Seven Years' War, are very sarcastically noticed by Templeman.

and Mosco's horde,

Had flesh'd the maiden steel of Brunswick's sword.
Oh! yet, I deem'd, that fate, by justice led,
Might wreathe once more the veteran's silver head;
That Europe's ancient pride would yet disdain
The cumbrous sceptre of a single reign;
That conscious right would tenfold strength afford,
And Heaven assist the patriot's holy sword,
And look in mercy through th' auspicious sky,
To bless the saviour host of Germany.
And are they dreams, these bodings, such as shed
Their lonely comfort o'er the hermit's bed?
And are they dreams? or can the Eternal Mind
Care for a sparrow, yet neglect mankind?
Why, if the dubious battle own His power,
And the red sabre, where He bids, devour,
Why then can one the curse of worlds deride,
And millions weep a tyrant's single pride?
Thus sadly musing, far my footsteps stray'd,
Rapt in the visions of the Aonian maid.
It was not she, whose lonely voice I hear
Fall in soft whispers on my love-lorn ear;

26

My daily guest, who wont my steps to guide
Through the green walks of scented even-tide,
Or stretch'd with me in noonday ease along,
To list the reaper's chaunt, or throstle's song:—
But she of loftier port; whose grave controul
Rules the fierce workings of the patriot's soul;
She, whose high presence, o'er the midnight oil,
With fame's bright promise cheers the student's toil;
That same was she, whose ancient lore refin'd
The sober hardihood of Sydney's mind.
Borne on her wing, no more I seem'd to rove
By Dresden's glittering spires, and linden grove;
No more the giant Elbe, all silver bright,
Spread his broad bosom to the fair moonlight,
While the still margent of his ample flood
Bore the dark image of the Saxon wood—
(Woods happy once, that heard the carols free,
Of rustic love, and cheerful industry;
Now dull and joyless lie their alleys green,
And silence marks the track where France has been.)
Far other scenes than these my fancy view'd:
Rocks robed in ice, a mountain solitude;
Where on Helvetian hills, in godlike state,
Alone and awful, Europe's Angel sate:

27

Silent and stern he sate; then, bending low,
Listen'd th' ascending plaints of human woe.
And waving as in grief his towery head,
“Not yet, not yet the day of rest,” he said;
“It may not be. Destruction's gory wing
Soars o'er the banners of the younger king,
Too rashly brave, who secks with single sway
To stem the lava on its destined way.
Poor glittering warriors, only wont to know
The bloodless pageant of a martial show;
Nurselings of peace, for fiercer fights prepare,
And dread the step-dame sway of unaccustom'd war!
They fight, they bleed!—Oh! had that blood been shed
When Charles and valour Austria's armies led;
Had these stood forth the righteous cause to shield,
When victory waver'd on Moravia's field;
Then France had mourn'd her conquests made in vain,
Her backward-beaten ranks, and countless slain;—
Then had the strength of Europe's freedom stood,
And still the Rhine had roll'd a German flood!
“Oh! nursed in many a wile, and practised long
To spoil the poor, and cringe before the strong;
To swell the victor's state, and hovering near,
Like some base vulture in the battle's rear,

28

To watch the carnage of the field, and share
Each loathsome alms the prouder eagles spare:
A curse is on thee, Brandenburgh! thé sound
Of Poland's wailing drags thee to the ground;
And, drunk with guilt, thy harlot lips shall know
The bitter dregs of Austria's cup of woe.
“Enough of vengeance! O'er th' ensanguined plain
I gaze, and seek their numerous host in vain;
Gone like the locust band, when whirlwinds bear
Their flimsy legions through the waste of air.
Enough of vengeance!—By the glorious dead,
Who bravely fell where youthful Lewis led;

Prince Lewis Ferdinand of Prussia, who fell gloriously with almost the whole of his regiment.


By Blücher's sword in fiercest danger tried,
And the true heart that burst when Brunswick died;
By her whose charms the coldest zeal might warm,

The Queen of Prussia; beautiful, unfortunate, and unsubdued by the severest reverses.


The manliest firmness in the fairest form—
Save, Europe, save the remnant!—Yet remains
One glorious path to free the world from chains.
Why, when yon northern band in Eylau's wood
Retreating struck, and track'd their course with blood,
While one firm rock the floods of ruin stay'd,
Why, generous Austria, were thy wheels delay'd?
And Albion!”—Darker sorrow veil'd his brow—
“Friend of the friendless—Albion, where art thou?

29

Child of the Sea, whose wing-like sails are spread,
The covering cherub of the ocean's bed!

“Thou art the anointed cherub that coverest.”—Addressed to Tyre, by Ezekiel, xxviii. 14.


The storm and tempest render peace to thee,
And the wild-roaring waves a stern security.
But hope not thou in Heaven's own strength to ride,
Freedom's loved ark, o'er broad oppression's tide;
If virtue leave thee, if thy careless eye
Glance in contempt on Europe's agony.
Alas! where now the bands who wont to pour
Their strong deliverance on th' Egyptian shore?
Wing, wing your course, a prostrate world to save,
Triumphant squadrons of Trafalgar's wave.
“And thou, blest star of Europe's darkest hour,
Whose words were wisdom and whose counsels power,
Whom Earth applauded through her peopled shores!
(Alas! whom Earth too early lost deplores:—)
Young without follies, without rashness bold,
And greatly poor amidst a nation's gold!
In every veering gale of faction true,
Untarnish'd Chatham's genuine child, adieu!
Unlike our common suns, whose gradual ray
Expands from twilight to intenser day,
Thy blaze broke forth at once in full meridian sway.
O, proved in danger! not the fiercest flame
Of discord's rage thy constant soul could tame;

30

Not when, far striding, o'er thy palsied land,
Gigantic treason took his bolder stand;
Not when wild zeal, by murderous faction led,
On Wicklow's hills her grass-green banner spread;
Or those stern conquerors of the restless wave
Defied the native soil they wont to save.—
Undaunted patriot! in that dreadful hour,
When pride and genius own a sterner power;
When the dimm'd eyeball, and the struggling breath,
And pain, and terror, mark advancing death;—
Still in that breast thy country held her throne,
Thy toil, thy fear, thy prayer, were hers alone,
Thy last faint effort hers, and hers thy parting groan.
“Yes, from those lips while fainting nations drew
Hope ever strong, and courage ever new;—
Yet, yet, I deem'd by that supporting hand
Propp'd in her fall might Freedom's ruin stand;
And purged by fire, and stronger from the storm,
Degraded justice rear her reverend form.
Now hope adieu!—adieu the generous care
To shield the weak, and tame the proud in war!
The golden chain of realms, when equal awe
Poised the strong balance of impartial law;
When rival states as federate sisters shone,
Alike, yet various, and though many, one;

31

And, bright and numerous as the spangled sky,
Beam'd each fair star of Europe's galaxy—
All, all are gone, and after-time shall trace
One boundless rule, one undistinguish'd race;
Twilight of worth, where nought remains to move
The patriot's ardour, or the subject's love.
“Behold, e'en now, while every manly lore
And every muse forsakes my yielding shore;
Faint, vapid fruits of slavery's sickly clime,
Each tinsel art succeeds, and harlot rhyme!
To gild the vase, to bid the purple spread
In sightly foldings o'er the Grecian bed,
Their mimic guard where sculptured gryphons keep,
And Memphian idols watch o'er beauty's sleep;
To rouse the slumbering sparks of faint desire
With the base tinkling of the Teian lyre;
While youth's enervate glance and gloating age
Hang o'er the mazy waltz, or pageant stage;
Each wayward wish of sickly taste to please,
The nightly revel and the noontide ease—
These, Europe, are thy toils, thy trophies these!
“So, when wide-wasting hail, or whelming rain,
Have strew'd the bearded hope of golden grain,
From the wet furrow, struggling to the skies,
The tall, rank weeds in barren splendour rise;

32

And strong, and towering o'er the mildew'd ear,
Uncomely flowers and baneful herbs appear;
The swain's rich toils to useless poppies yield,
And Famine stalks along the purple field.
“And thou, the poet's theme, the patriot's prayer!—
Where, France, thy hopes, thy gilded promise, where?
When o'er Montpelier's vines, and Jura's snows,
All goodly bright, young freedom's planet rose?
What boots it now, (to our destruction brave,)
How strong thine arm in war? a valiant slave!
What boots it now that wide thine eagles sail,
Fann'd by the flattering breath of conquest's gale?
What, that, high-piled within yon ample dome,
The blood-bought treasures rest of Greece and Rome?
Scourge of the Highest, bolt in vengeance hurl'd
By Heaven's dread justice on a shrinking world!
Go, vanquish'd victor, bend thy proud helm down
Before thy sullen tyrant's steely crown,
For him in Afric's sands, and Poland's snows,
Rear'd by thy toil the shadowy laurel grows;
And rank in German fields the harvest springs
Of pageant councils and obsequious kings.
Such purple slaves, of glittering fetters vain,
Link'd the wide circuit of the Latian chain;

33

And slaves like these shall every tyrant find,
To gild oppression, and debase mankind.
“Oh! live there yet whose hardy souls and high,
Peace bought with shame, and tranquil bonds defy?
Who, driven from every shore, and lords in vain
Of the wide prison of the lonely main,
Cling to their country's rights with freeborn zeal,
More strong from every stroke, and patient of the steel?
Guiltless of chains, to them has Heaven consign'd
Th' entrusted cause of Europe and mankind!
Or hope we yet in Sweden's martial snows
That freedom's weary foot may find repose?
No;—from yon hermit shade, yon cypress dell,
Where faintly peals the distant matin-bell;
Where bigot kings and tyrant priests had shed
Their sleepy venom o'er his dreadful head;
He wakes, th' avenger—hark! the hills around,
Untamed Asturia bids her clarion sound;
And many an ancient rock, and fleecy plain,
And many a valiant heart returns the strain:
Heard by that shore, where Calpe's armed steep
Flings its long shadow o'er th' Herculean deep,
And Lusian glades, whose hoary poplars wave
In soft, sad murmurs over Inez' grave.

Inez de Castro, the beloved mistress of the Infant Don Pedro, son of Alphonso IV. King of Portugal, and stabbed by the orders, and, according to Camoëns, in the presence of that monarch. A fountain near Coimbra, the scene of their loves and misfortunes, is still pointed out by tradition, and called Amores.—De la Clede, Hist. de Portugalle, 4to. tom. i. page 282—7; and Camoëns' Lusiad, canto 3, stanza cxxxv.



34

They bless the call who dared the first withstand

The Asturians, who under Pelagius first opposed the career of Mahometan success.

The Moslem wasters of their bleeding land,

When firm in faith, and red with slaughter'd foes,
Thy spear-encircled crown, Asturia,

“La couronne de fer de Dom Pélage,—cette couronne si simple mais si glorieuse, dont chaque fleuron est formé du fer d'une lance arrachée aux Chevaliers Maures que ce héros avoit fait tomber sous ses coups.” Roman de Dom Ursino le Navarin, Tressan, tom. ix. 52.

rose.

Nor these alone; as loud the war-notes swell,
La Mancha's shepherd quits his cork-built cell;
Alhama's strength is there, and those who till
(A hardy race!) Morena's scorched hill;
And in rude arms through wide Gallicia's reign,
The swarthy vintage pours her vigorous train.
“Saw ye those tribes? not theirs the plumed boast,
The sightly trappings of a marshall'd host;
No weeping nations curse their deadly skill,
Expert in danger, and enured to kill:—
But theirs the kindling eye, the strenuous arm:
Theirs the dark cheek, with patriot ardour warm,
Unblanch'd by sluggard ease, or slavish fear,
And proud and pure the blood that mantles there.
Theirs from the birth is toil;—o'er granite steep,
And heathy wild, to guard the wandering sheep;
To urge the labouring mule, or bend the spear
'Gainst the night-prowling wolf, or felon bear;
The bull's hoarse rage in dreadful sport to mock,
And meet with single sword his bellowing shock.

35

Each martial chant they know, each manly rhyme,
Rude, ancient lays of Spain's heroic time;

See the two elegant specimens given by Bishop Percy in his Reliques; and the more accurate translations of Mr. Rodd, in his Civil Wars of Granada.


Of him in Xeres' carnage fearless found,

The Gothic monarchy in Spain was overthrown by the Mussulmans at the battle of Xeres, the Christian army being defeated with dreadful slaughter, and the death of their king, the unhappy and licentious Roderigo. Pelagius assembled the small band of those fugitives who despised submission, amid the mountains of the Asturias, under the name of King of Oviedo.


(His glittering brows with hostile spear-heads bound;)
Of that chaste king whose hardy mountain train

Alonso, surnamed the Chaste, with ample reason, if we believe his historians: who defeated, according to the Spanish romances, and the graver authority of Mariana, the whole force of Charlemagne and the twelve peers of France, at Roncesvalles. Bertrand del Carpio, the son of Alonso's sister, Ximena, was his general; and according to Don Quixote (no incompetent authority on such a subject), put the celebrated Orlando to the same death as Hercules inflicted on Antæus. His reason was, that the nephew of Charlemagne was enchanted, and, like Achilles, only vulnerable in the heel, to guard which he wore always iron shoes.—See Mariana, l. vii. c. xi.; Don Quixote, book i. c. i.; and the notes on Mr. Southey's Chronicle of the Cid; a work replete with powerful description, and knowledge of ancient history and manners, and which adds a new wreath to one, who “nullum fere scribendi genus intactum reliquit, nullum quod tetigit non ornavit.”


O'erthrew the knightly race of Charlemagne;
And chiefest him who rear'd his banner tall

Rodrigo Diaz, of Biva, surnamed the Cid by the Moors.—See Mr. Southey's Chronicle.


(Illustrious exile!) o'er Valencia's wall;
Ungraced by kings, whose Moorish title rose
The toil-earn'd homage of his wondering foes.
“Yes; every mouldering tower and haunted flood,
And the wild murmurs of the waving wood;
Each sandy waste, and orange-scented dell,
And red Buraba's field, and Lugo,

Buraba and Lugo were renowned scenes of Spanish victories over the Moors, in the reigns of Bermudo, or, as his name is Latinized, Veremundus, and Alonso the Chaste. Of Lugo the British have since obtained a melancholy knowledge.

tell,

How their brave fathers fought, how thick the invaders fell.
“Oh! virtue long forgot, or vainly tried,
To glut a bigot's zeal, or tyrant's pride;
Condemn'd in distant climes to bleed and die
'Mid the dank poisons of Tlascala's

An extensive district of Mexico: its inhabitants were the first Indians who submitted to the Spaniards under Cortez.

sky;

Or when stern Austria stretch'd her lawless reign,
And spent in northern fights the flower of Spain;
Or war's hoarse furies yell'd on Ysell's shore,
And Alva's ruffian sword was drunk with gore,

36

Yet dared not then Tlaseala's chiefs withstand
The lofty daring of Castilia's band;
And weeping France her captive king

Francis I. taken prisoner at the battle of Pavia.

deplored,

And cursed the deathful point of Ebro's sword.
Now, nerved with hope, their night of slavery past,
Each heart beats high in freedom's buxom blast;
Lo! conquest calls, and beckoning from afar,
Uplifts his laurel wreath, and waves them on to war.
—Woe to th' usurper then, who dares defy
The sturdy wrath of rustic loyalty!
Woe to the hireling bands, foredoom'd to feel
How strong in labour's horny hand the steel!
Behold e'en now, beneath yon Bœtic skies

Andalusia forms a part of the ancient Hispania Bœtica.


Another Pavia bids her trophies rise;—
E'en now in base disguise and friendly night,
Their robber-monarch speeds his secret flight;
And with new zeal the fiery Lusians rear,
(Roused by their neighbour's worth) the long-neglected spear.
“So when stern winter chills the April showers,
And iron frost forbids the timely flowers;
Oh, deem not thou the vigorous herb below
Is crush'd and dead beneath th' incumbent snow:
Such tardy suns shall wealthier harvests bring
Than all the early smiles of flattering spring.”

37

Sweet as the martial trumpet's silver swell,
On my charm'd sense the unearthly accents fell:
Me wonder held, and joy chastised by fear,
As one who wish'd, yet hardly hoped to hear.
“Spirit,” I cried, “dread teacher, yet declare,
In that good fight, shall Albion's arm be there?
Can Albion, brave and wise, and proud, refrain
To hail a kindred soul, and link her fate with Spain?
Too long her sons, estranged from war and toil,
Have loathed the safety of the sea-girt isle;
And chid the waves which pent their fire within,
As the stall'd war-horse wooes the battle's din.
Oh, by this throbbing heart, this patriot glow,
Which, well I feel, each English breast shall know;
Say, shall my country, roused from deadly sleep,
Crowd with her hardy sons yon western steep?
And shall once more the star of France grow pale,
And dim its beams in Roncesvalles' vale?

See the former note on Alonso the Chaste.


Or shall foul sloth and timid doubt conspire
To mar our zeal, and waste our manly fire?”
Still as I gazed, his lowering features spread,
High rose his form, and darkness veil'd his head;
Fast from his eyes the ruddy lightning broke,
To Heaven he rear'd his arm, and thus he spoke:

38

“Woe, trebly woe to their slow zeal who bore
Delusive comfort to Iberia's shore!
Who in mid conquest, vaunting, yet dismay'd,
Now gave, and now withdrew their laggard aid;
Who, when each bosom glow'd, each heart beat high,
Chill'd the pure stream of England's energy,
And lost in courtly forms and blind delay
The loiter'd hours of glory's short-lived day.
“O peerless island, generous, bold, and free,
Lost, ruin'd Albion, Europe mourns for thee!
Hadst thou but known the hour in mercy given
To stay thy doom, and ward the ire of Heaven;
Bared in the cause of man thy warrior breast,
And crush'd on yonder hills th' approaching pest,
Then had not murder sack'd thy smiling plain,
And wealth, and worth, and wisdom all been vain;
“Yet, yet awake! while fear and wonder wait
On the poised balance, trembling still with fate!

This line is imitated from one in Mr. Roscoe's spirited verses on the commencement of the French revolution.


If aught their worth can plead, in battle tried,
Who tinged with slaughter Tajo's curdling tide;
(What time base truce the wheels of war could stay,
And the weak victor flung his wreath away;)—
Or theirs, who, doled in scanty bands afar,
Waged without hope the disproportion'd war,

39

And cheerly still, and patient of distress,
Led their forwasted files on numbers numberless!

“He look'd and saw what numbers numberless.” Milton, Paradise Regained.


“Yes, through the march of many a weary day,
As yon dark column toils it seaward way;
As bare, and shrinking from the inclement sky,
The languid soldier bends him down to die;
As o'er those helpless limbs, by murder gor'd,
The base pursuer waves his weaker sword,
And, trod to earth, by trampling thousands press'd
The horse-hoof glances from that mangled breast;—
E'en in that hour his hope to England flies,
And fame and vengeance fire his closing eyes.
“Oh! if such hope can plead, or his, whose bier
Drew from his conquering host their latest tear;
Whose skill, whose matchless valour, gilded flight:
Entomb'd in foreign dust, a hasty soldier's rite;—
Oh! rouse thee yet to conquer and to save,
And wisdom guide the sword which justice gave!
“And yet the end is not! from yonder towers
While one Saguntum

The ancient siege of Saguntum has been now rivalled by Zaragoza. The author is happy to refer his readers to the interesting narrative of his friend, Mr. Vaughan.

mocks the victor's powers:

While one brave heart defies a servile chain,
And one true soldier wields a lance for Spain;
Trust not, vain tyrant, though thy spoiler band
In tenfold myriads darken half the land;

40

(Vast as that power, against whose impious lord
Bethulia's matron

Judith.

shook the nightly sword;)

Though ruth and fear thy woundless soul defy,
And fatal genius fire thy martial eye:
Yet trust not here o'er yielding realms to roam,
Or cheaply bear a bloodless laurel home.
“No! by His viewless arm whose righteous care
Defends the orphan's tear, the poor man's prayer;
Who, Lord of Nature, o'er this changeful ball
Decrees the rise of empires, and the fall;
Wondrous in all His ways, unseen, unknown,
Who treads the wine-press of the world alone;

“I have trodden the wine-press alone, and of the people there was none with me, for I will tread them in mine anger, and trample them in my fury.”—Isaiah lxiii. 3.


And rob'd in darkness, and surrounding fears,
Speeds on their destin'd road the march of years!
No!—shall yon eagle, from the snare set free,
Stoop to thy wrist, or cower his wing for thee?
And shall it tame despair, thy strong controul,
Or quench a nation's still reviving soul?—
Go, bid the force of countless bands conspire
To urb the wandering wind, or grasp the fire!
Cast thy vain fetters on the troublous sea!—
But Spain, the brave, the virtuous, shall be free.”

41

THE PASSAGE OF THE RED SEA.


43

With heat o'erlabour'd and the length of way,
On Ethan's beach the bands of Israel lay.
'Twas silence all, the sparkling sands along;
Save where the locust trill'd her feeble song,
Or blended soft in drowsy cadence fell
The wave's low whisper or the camel's bell.—
'Twas silence all!—the flocks for shelter fly
Where, waving light, the acacia shadows lie;
Or where, from far, the flattering vapours make
The noon-tide semblance of a misty lake:
While the mute swain, in careless safety spread,
With arms enfolded, and dejected head,
Dreams o'er his wondrous call, his lineage high,
And, late reveal'd, his children's destiny.—
For, not in vain, in thraldom's darkest hour,
Had sped from Amram's sons the word of power;

44

Nor fail'd the dreadful wand, whose god-like sway
Could lure the locust from her airy way;
With reptile war assail their proud abodes,
And mar the giant pomp of Egypt's Gods.
Oh helpless Gods! who nought avail'd to shield
From fiery rain your Zoan's favour'd field!—
Oh helpless Gods! who saw the curdled blood
Taint the pure lotus of your ancient flood,
And fourfold-night the wondering earth enchain,
While Memnon's orient harp was heard in vain!—
Such musings held the tribes, till now the west
With milder influence on their temples prest;
And that portentous cloud which, all the day,
Hung its dark curtain o'er their weary way,
(A cloud by day, a friendly flame by night,)
Roll'd back its misty veil, and kindled into light!—
Soft fell the eve:—But, ere the day was done,
Tall, waving banners streak'd the level sun;
And wide and dark along the horizon red,
In sandy surge the rising desert spread.—
“Mark, Israel, mark!”—On that strange sight intent,
In breathless terror, every eye was bent;
And busy faction's fast-increasing hum
And female voices shriek, “They come, they come!”

45

They come, they come! in scintillating show
O'er the dark mass the brazen lances glow;
And sandy clouds in countless shapes combine,
As deepens or extends the long tumultuous line;—
And fancy's keener glance ev'n now may trace
The threatening aspects of each mingled race:
For many a coal-black tribe and cany spear,
The hireling guards of Misraim's throne, were there.
From distant Cush they troop'd, a warrior train,
Siwah's

Oasis.—Sennaar. Meroe.

green isle and Sennaar's marly plain:

On either wing their fiery coursers check
The parch'd and sinewy sons of Amalek:
While close behind, inured to feast on blood,
Deck'd in Behemoth's spoils, the tall Shangalla

The black tribes, whom Bruce considers as the aboriginal Nubians, are so called. For their gigantic stature, and their custom of ornamenting themselves and their houses with the spoils of the elephant, see the account he gives of the person and residence of one of their chiefs, whom he visited on his departure from Ras el Feel.

strode.

'Mid blazing helms and bucklers rough with gold
Saw ye how swift the scythed chariots roll'd?
Lo, these are they whom, lords of Afric's fates,
Old Thebes hath pour'd through all her hundred gates,
Mother of armies!—How the emeralds

The emerald, or whatever the ancients dignified by the name of smaragdus, is said to have been found in great quantities in the mountain now called Gebel Zumrud (the mount of emeralds).

glow'd,

Where, flush'd with power and vengeance, Pharaoh rode!
And stoled in white, those brazen wheels before,
Osiris' ark his swarthy wizards bore;
And still responsive to the trumpet's cry
The priestly sistrum murmur'd—Victory!—

46

Why swell these shouts that rend the desert's gloom?
Whom come ye forth to combat?—warriors, whom?—
These flocks and herds—this faint and weary train—
Red from the scourge and recent from the chain?—
God of the poor, the poor and friendless save!
Giver and Lord of freedom, help the slave!—
North, south, and west, the sandy whirlwinds fly,
The circling horns of Egypt's chivalry.
On earth's last margin throng the weeping train:
Their cloudy guide moves on:—“And must we swim the main?”
'Mid the light spray their snorting camels stood,
Nor bathed a fetlock in the nauseous flood—
He comes—their leader comes?—the man of God
O'er the wide waters lifts his mighty rod,
And onward treads—The circling waves retreat,
In hoarse deep murmurs, from his holy feet;
And the chased surges, inly roaring, show
The hard wet sand and coral hills below.
With limbs that falter, and with hearts that swell,
Down, down they pass—a steep and slippery dell—
Around them rise, in pristine chaos hurl'd,
The ancient rocks, the secrets of the world;
And flowers that blush beneath the ocean green,
And caves, the sea-calves' low-roof'd haunt are seen.

47

Down, safely down the narrow pass they tread;
The beetling waters storm above their head:
While far behind retires the sinking day,
And fades on Edom's hills its latest ray.
Yet not from Israel fled the friendly light,
Or dark to them, or cheerless came the night.
Still in their van, along that dreadful road,
Blazed broad and fierce the brandish'd torch of God.
Its meteor glare a tenfold lustre gave
On the long mirror of the rosy wave:
While its blest beams a sunlike heat supply,
Warm every cheek, and dance in every eye—
To them alone—for Misraim's wizard train
Invoke for light their monster-gods in vain:
Clouds heap'd on clouds their struggling sight confine,
And tenfold darkness broods above their line.
Yet on they fare by reckless vengeance led,
And range unconscious through the ocean's bed:
Till midway now—that strange and fiery form
Show'd his dread visage lightening through the storm;
With withering splendour blasted all their might,
And brake their chariot-wheels, and marr'd their coursers' flight,
“Fly, Misraim, fly!”—The ravenous floods they see,
And, fiercer than the floods, the Deity.

48

“Fly, Misraim, fly!”—From Edom's coral strand
Again the prophet stretch'd his dreadful wand:—
With one wild crash the thundering waters sweep,
And all is waves—a dark and lonely deep—
Yet o'er those lonely waves such murmurs past,
As mortal wailing swell'd the nightly blast:
And strange and sad the whispering breezes bore
The groans of Egypt to Arabia's shore.
Oh! welcome came the morn, where Israel stood
In trustless wonder by th' avenging flood!
Oh! welcome came the cheerful morn, to show
The drifted wreck of Zoan's pride below;
The mangled limbs of men—the broken car—
A few sad relics of a nation's war:
Alas, how few!—Then, soft as Elim's well,

It is interesting to observe with what pleasure and minuteness Moses, amid the Arabian wilderness, enumerates the “twelve wells of water,” and the “threescore and ten palm-trees,” of Elim.


The precious tears of new-born freedom fell.
And he, whose harden'd heart alike had borne
The house of bondage and th' oppressor's scorn,
The stubborn slave, by hope's new beams subdued,
In faltering accents sobb'd his gratitude—
Till kindling into warmer zeal, around
The virgin timbrel waked its silver sound:
And in fierce joy, no more by doubt supprest,
The struggling spirit throbb'd in Miriam's breast.

49

She, with bare arms, and fixing on the sky
The dark transparence of her lucid eye,
Pour'd on the winds of heaven her wild sweet harmony.
“Where now,” she sang, “the tall Egyptian spear?
On's sunlike shield, and Zoan's chariot, where?
Above their ranks the whelming waters spread.
Shout Israel, for the Lord hath triumphed!”—
And every pause between, as Miriam sang,
From tribe to tribe the martial thunder rang,
And loud and far their stormy chorus spread,—
“Shout, Israel, for the Lord hath triumphed!”